


For All Eternity

by TheRedWulf



Series: Roosa One Shots [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, BAMF Sansa Stark, Blood, Character Turned Into Vampire, Creepy, F/M, Gothic, House Bolton, Lust, Mates, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roosa - Freeform, Roose Bolton is His Own Warning, Strong!Sansa, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Victorian, plot holes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 19:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20857184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/pseuds/TheRedWulf
Summary: AU - Victorian - In which vampiric Lord Bolton finds his mate...Picset is viewableHERE





	For All Eternity

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look...another one shot...  
Happy October 1st! Here's a vampire AU! 
> 
> ROOSA IS LIFE! Don't judge me. There is just an excuse for smut....a lot of smut--vampire smut-- Sorry?
> 
> For the 100th time I don't consider myself a writer. This is unbeta'd so I apologize for any errors.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Approximately 1850 -

“No! NO PLEASE!” she screamed, fighting against the grip of the blacksmith and cobbler, her small, too-slender frame no match for their strength. “NO!” she screamed louder, sobs pouring from her as she thrashed. They made no reply, merely lifted her higher, her feet barely scraping the dirt as they forced her up the path. “NO!”

“The sickness didn’t take her! She’s a witch!” 

“Witch!”

“Take her to _Him_!” 

“Yes! A witch!”

“A curse on this village!”

“Look at her hair! She’s touched by the Devil, I tell you!”

The others from her village carried torches and pitchforks behind her as they escorted her. Cheering, ranting and hurling curses against her and her name. She did her best to hold herself together, but panic was quickly consuming her and when the large, stone mansion came into sight she screamed at the top of her lungs, her fight renewed. 

A moon’s turn ago she had been one of five children, daughter to Lord and Lady Stark and the most beautiful girl in town, or so her mother assured her. But sickness had come on the cold winds of autumn, taking all in her family except for her. 

She had cared for each one of her family members after the servants had abandoned them, cooked, cleaned, bathed and made sure that her family had all they needed as their bodies wasted away. None would help her, they were all afraid of the sickness. Afraid of her. 

She had then watched the bodies of her family as they were interred in the frozen earth. She had paid a pretty penny to the men who dug the six graves in the family plot, paying their blood price to give her family a proper burial. She watched as they were covered in dirt, lost to her forever. Mother. Father. Robb. Arya. Bran. Rickon. All gone. Why not her? 

She had been alone in the great house, locked away in mourning when the villagers came. Huddled beside the fire in an attempt to chase the chill from her soul. A frost that had settled in when her family ceased to be. 

The villagers ran through the house, taking what they could, looting, breaking valuables, all while the blacksmith, Meryn Trant and the cobbler, Boros Blount, dragged her from her chair. Forcing her from her family home.

She had no idea of their intentions at first, but when the others began to speak of _Him_ she felt the true sting of fear. 

_Him_ the ‘monster on the hill’, or so they called him. The large, gothic mansion seemed to loom over the village, the darkness of the stone nearly lost in the darkness of night. Vines and plants had overgrown the gates, the wrought iron filled with terrifying carvings of skulls and bones. 

As children, Arya would make up horror stories about the gates, about how the skulls were once men that the monster had coated in molten iron, trapping them in their death state. Sansa would never admit how scared she was of the dark home and the rumored man who inhabited its walls. 

House Bolton it had once been rumored to be, many, many years ago, but now any who dared to enter never returned, and at night the howling of wolves was heard for miles, said to originate from the house.

“Please! Do not do this!” she begged. “Please!”

“Shut up, girl” Trant shook her, nearly pulling her shoulder from the socket as they wrenched her along. 

“Please” she screamed as the gates were forced open by the villagers. “NO!”

Trant paused, turning her to face him and she saw naught but malice in the darkness of his eyes, “Stupid witch” he reached for her throat, but rather than grabbing the flesh he tore her golden locket away. 

“NO!” she tried to take it back. “That was my mother’s, please!”

“And you killed her” Trant glared. “You killed them all!”

“NO!” she thrashed and fought but they dragged her along, forcing her inside the stone and iron gates, throwing her to the ground. “My locket! That is mine!!” she begged, trying to stand, stripping over her skirts. Inside that locket were the only portraits of her mother and father that she had, it was all she had left in this world.

Before she could reach the gates, they villagers had closed and locked them, trapping her inside. Trant stood back, swinging the golden locket like a pendulum. 

“Think I’ll melt it down” he chuckled. “Make myself a golden toothpick.”

“Please” she reached through the iron but he ducked away, everyone laughing at her as they retreated. “Please, no” she whispered, tears finally flowing down her cheeks. “Damn you, Trant!!!” she cursed for the first time.

Howls came then, great, mournful sounds that echoed across the land and had the villagers frozen with fear. 

“The wolves!”

“They come!”

“Run!” 

Sansa watched them all turn, abandoning her to the monsters and in that moment she wished every single one of them were dead. She wished she _was_ the witch they claimed her to be, for she would curse them all! She would kill each one of them who had betrayed her family.

In the absence of their torchlight, the moon illuminated the courtyard and house beyond. She looked around, seeking the source of the howls, but it wasn’t until the great black beasts emerged from the treeline that she moved. 

She ran, holding her skirts up, she ran as fast as she could, following the stone path towards the house and whatever fate awaited her. Monster, wolves...it did not matter, she knew she would never see another sunrise. She knew the chill in her soul would consume her as surely as the wolves.

Twisting and turning, she followed the dim path through a garden until another figure stepped into her path, this one tall, broad and impeccably dressed. 

A shadow crossed over the moon and he seemed to vanish.

“Easy girl” she was in his arms before she realized it, his deep voice soothing and kind. He smelled of lemons, leather and rosemary, an interesting combination that immediately settled her nerves.

“Please! You have to help me” she begged, clinging to his waistcoat. The shadow parted and the moonlight spilled over them. She looked up into a strong, human face with impossibly grey eyes, nearly white in the light, and well kept greying hair and beard. “Please, help me!” she pleaded as the wolves appeared on the path behind her. 

“They will not hurt you, my pet” his voice assured her, and almost at his command the wolves stopped, watching them keenly. “They will never hurt you.”

“Please” her whisper was barely audible. “Who…are you?”

“A man who has waited a very long time for you, my darling,” he replied, tilting his head to examine her neck. “They have harmed you.” 

She swallowed thickly, the sting from where her locket had been torn finally registering in her mind, “They took my locket…”

“Fools” he whispered, leaning closer and then she felt the warmth of his tongue across her flesh. She struggled, but he held her close. He lapped at her, the sting receding as he moved and then she felt it no more. 

“What--” she looked up at him as he pulled back. 

“I will see to your locket” he promised. “But first” he said as he leaned toward her once more, this time taking her lips in a sinful, passionate kiss. She tried to resist him, but the lust that coursed through her at his touch soon had her fists relaxing on his chest as her arms banded around her like iron. 

She melted against his impossible strength, his body broad and solid in the chaos of her world. Gone were thoughts of wolves, gone was the fear of torches and pitchforks, her world had narrowed to this man and the moonlight.

It was filthy, depraved and passionate, his mouth marking hers in ways that she did not know existed. She had seen her parents kiss before, but it was never like this, it was chaste compared to this. 

She felt his teeth tease her lower lip as he pulled back, his taste clinging to her tongue. She was panting against him, her body out of control and legs weak. The chill, she realized, was gone. Leaving in its wake only a pleasant warmth.

“Perfection” he kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw. “You are perfection.”

“Who...who are you?” she asked once more. 

“I am yours” he whispered against her throat and then she felt the sting of his bite as his mouth clamped onto her flesh. She whimpered and tried to push away, but he held her prisoner. 

“Please” she pleaded for the hundredth time tonight, but the pain began to fade, as her world did, the warmth traveling through her pulling her under into a tide of darkness. Until she was lost. 

He felt her body sag against his and he easily caught her, scooping his bride into his arms and turning back to the house. A sharp whistle had the wolves following behind him, the pack having been obedient in guiding her to him, he would see to their reward later. 

Carrying her into the ancient house, he made way for the master’s chambers and lay her across the plush counterpane, her fiery red hair spreading across the pillows like molten lava. Removing his gloves he used a sharp nail to slice his wrist, lowering the cut to her lips and allowing his blood to drop into her mouth. 

Soon, he smiled, she would awaken, be reborn and take her place beside him as his bride, his true wife and mate. For eternity. He had waited a very long time for her, he could not wait for them to enjoy each other. 

He had been born in the 14th century, the son of a Northern King and heir to his father’s throne. Lord Roose Bolton, he once was, and terrifying warrior and cold king. It wasn’t until the Long Night came that he fell in battle. However, he did not fall for long, soon rising as this unnatural creature. As a vampire that would forever consume blood in return for eternal life. 

He had fled his home, finding solace in the Northern countryside and in this ancient stone house. He acquired the wolves and they became his companions, devouring the flesh once he was done with the blood of his victims. 

And victims there had been. Some he had to seek and bring back, others walked through his gates, aiming to test their metal against the rumored ‘Monster on the Hill’. Ignorant country bumpkins, he would smirk each time one arrived. 

But tonight, tonight had been different. 

He had seen her before in the village. Lady Sansa Stark, the pride of her parents’ eyes. He had watched her from the shadows as she laughed at a barn dance, her fiery hair and porcelain skin gleaming in the firelight. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever witnessed. He was intrigued by her elegance, her grace and beauty. Even when given a backhanded compliment, she smiled dutifully, the fire in her eyes hidden behind courtesy. 

He then watched watched her as the six bodies were lowered into the ground, leaving her the last member of the great Stark family and a woman tormented by pain. She had clung to the locket at her neck, sobbing softly as the groundskeepers quickly covered each wooden casket. 

A locket, he frowned as he pulled his gloves back on, that had been stolen from her. 

No one stole from him, and stealing from his bride meant stealing from him. He would see the locket returned, and see the man who stole it punished. 

He paused to admire her once more, her pale form clad in a rich, black gown that hugged slender arms and a small waist. Her scent had called to him, it always had, and tonight her cries pulled at his chest as the villagers ‘sacrificed’ her. 

He had wanted her, and if there was any evidence in their kiss, she wanted him in return. Soon, they would have each other and he would no longer pass through his mortal hell alone.

Leaving her in the great bed, he exited the house, taking the form of a wolf as he and the pack followed the faint scent of his bride that clung to the locket.

He found the man easily enough, the town blacksmith and a whoring drunkard that should have been killed long ago. Melting to his human form, Roose slipped in the back door and walked silently to where the man was sitting before the fire. He had a cup of ale in one hand, his cock in the other as sick thoughts of Sansa passed through his lips. 

Roose felt rage, barely controlled, pass through him and in an instant he was behind the man. 

“What--”

Roose covered the bastard’s mouth with a gloved hand, “You hurt her. You stole from her” he hissed against the man’s ear. “And now the Devil has come to take his due” he sank his teeth into the man’s neck, drinking from him in long, heated pulls until he went limp, a shell of a man. 

Roose pocketed the locket and dragged the man from the house, taking him to the woods where he gave the body to the pack, their jaws falling on him in a hungry rage. 

“Good boys” he smirked, melting back into his wolf form and running to the house. 

He set the locket on the night table beside her sleeping form, where it would be when she woke, a paltry but sentimental gift to his new bride. 

Stepping back he discarded his cloak and sank into the wingback chair beside the fire to wait. He would be here when she woke, ready to serve his lady in any way she needed. 

Sansa came awake on a gasp, the world around her magnified to the point of being overwhelming. She could hear the crackling fire, the wind beyond the windows and the steady, soft tapping of finger against finger. 

Turning, she saw the man sitting by the fire, his hands steepled as he watched the dancing flames. 

_”Need”_ she choked out, lurching toward him. Her eyes darted to her hand on the counterpane. Against the black fabric her hand looked paler than ever, nearly translucent and her nails, once worried and chewed from mourning, were perfect. 

A glimmer caught her eye and she turned, fast enough to throw her off balance, but when she recovered, she saw her golden locket on the nightstand. Reaching for it, she opened it to smile at the familiar portraits. 

“He has been dealt with” the man’s deep, rich voice told her. 

“I hope he is dead” she whispered, frowning at the broken clasp on the chain. 

“He is.”

The thought should have scared her, but she didn’t feel a thing. In fact, her heart didn’t race at all...it didn’t beat ...gasping she covered her chest with her hand. 

“It is still” he said. “As it will remain, for eternity.” 

“What have you done to me” she asked, pushing to her feet, leaving the locket on the night table. Despite an initial wave of dizziness, she felt good, better than she had in months. Strong and confident. 

“I have taken you as my bride” he finally looked up from the flames, his grey-white eyes raking over her. “You’re taller.” 

“What?” she asked in confusion, glancing to her dress to see it was indeed too short and as she moved, she realized it was now too tight. “What have you done to me?”

He smoothly stood and she found her body leaning towards his, eyes darting to his lips as he paced closer, “You are my bride---”

“You said that already, what does that mean?” she demanded, her brain going fuzzy as his arm wrapped around her waist. He was still half-a-head taller than her, but she fitted against his body perfectly. 

“While I am no monster, I _am_ a vampire” he said quietly but she heard every word perfectly. “And now, so are you.” 

“What?”

“You are immortal, my pet. My mate, as it were,” he continued. “No one will ever hurt you again. They simply cannot. Only a wooden stake to the heart can kill you, and I will never allow that to happen. At you will never be alone again, I will protect you, care for you. Always.” 

“Vampire” she instinctively ran her tongue across her teeth and felt the sharp peaks of her canine and incisors. “I’m…”

“Perfect” he finished for her, lowering his lips to hers once more. 

She wanted to resist him, she should have, but he felt so wonderful. Like rain after years of drought, like...the sun. She felt not the warmth of the fire or an ounce of fear as he kissed her as he had in the garden, devouring her until she was panting against him. It was this man and this man alone that had chased the chill from her chest. 

“Your name?” she whispered, pulling back. 

“Roose” he replied. “I was once, and always will be, Lord Roose Bolton, Sansa.”

“You know me.”

“I have seen you, both in your happiness and in mourning” he smoothed her hair from her face, carefully combing through the tangled mass. 

“How.”

“The shadows hide many things” he ran his hands over her back and she all but purred, arching against him. 

“What have you done to me” she whimpered. 

“My bride” he smirked, his eyes softening as he looked down at her. He moved closer and she felt the press of his desire against her. 

“Oh.” 

“May I take you?” he asked, his voice so incredibly deep that it echoed through her. 

“We shouldn’t” she weakly protested. 

“We are wed,” he countered. “Our blood flowing through each others veins. Bound for eternity.”

“You are my husband?” she asked and he nodded. 

“And you are my wife. I will keep you safe Sansa, no one will ever hurt you again.”

“Forever?”

“Forever” he promised. 

Her mind raced over the thoughts, sorting through all that he had told her. Vampire. Immortal. Bride. Wife. Mate. 

Bride. 

She did not respond, merely pulled his lips back to hers, surrendering to every passion that she felt in his arms. So far, her life had been spent in obedience, listening to every lesson, every rule her mother gave her. She was a good girl, always, having never been kissed until hours ago by this dark, mysterious man. 

And now, she was wed. She was his mate, a creature of the night. In his arms, lust and passion were not a sin, they were sacred acts of consummation. 

The fire between them flared to life and she gave herself to it. Roose seemed just as eager, unpinning the bit of her hair that hadn’t come free in her attack before his hands resumed their travel down her back. 

He lifted her, carrying her back to the large, black bed. He set her beside it, his hands tearing the laces of her gown with disconcerting ease, tearing everything away until she was naked before him. She felt exposed, but did not move to cover herself and instead drank in the way that he watched her. 

“Beautiful” he told her, tucking her hair behind her shoulders to admire her breasts. They were fuller than they had been before, just as she was taller and slimmer. 

Raising her hands to his jacket, she pushed it away as he unbuttoned his waistcoat and untied his cravat. As his shirt was discarded, she was surprised to find his shoulders just as wide as they had been, his body impressive, chest coated with brown and silver hair.

She ran her hands over him as he claimed her mouth once more, their bare chests pressing together and sending lightning through her. His hands saw to his pants and small clothes, kicking them away with his boots before he lifted her and lay her across the bed. 

She had never seen a man in bare flesh, but she could not imagine they were all as impressive and imposing as Roose. As he moved over her, she took in every detail of his being, from the breadth of his shoulders to the firm planes of his stomach and the jut of his manhood as he stood proudly between them. 

At the sight of it, long and thick, she felt a twinge of apprehension, wondering how badly it would hurt to have him inside of her. Her only friend, Jeyne Westerling was lately married and told Sansa of the agony of her wedding night. It had scared her to think of a man rutting into her, tearing her apart. 

“I will not hurt you” Roose promised, as if sensing her fear. “You’re immortal now, your body will absorb the pain and nullify it.” 

“Oh” she sighed as he settled over her, kissing her once more. Without the prospect of pain, she sank into his kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck and body arching to his. His hands found their way back to her hair, carding into it and dragging across her scalp in the most delicious way. 

They kissed for what felt like hours, neither of them in a rush as they learned every taste and every touch of each other. They kissed so long, by the time Roose reached between their bodies to align himself at her opening, she whimpered in anticipation and not fear. 

“Mine” Roose promised her as he slid home, pushing passed her maiden’s gift to stretch her core. She felt only a twinge of pain as her immortal body enveloped his. He swallowed her cries as he began to move, kissing her deeply as his body rocking within hers. 

The chill she had thought would destroy her soul, was thoroughly gone, fire instead consuming her body. Her fingers dug into his back, her legs wrapping around her as he moved, slowly but forcefully, filling her roughly with each downward stroke. 

His hips snapped, seeming to mark her as his own as his hands tightened in her hair, the tug sending shivers down her spine to settle in her core. 

They moved in the ancient dance, neither of them tiring or faltering as they claimed each other. 

“Mine” he growled, fucking her roughly, her body rising to meet his over and over. If she had any doubts about his condition, they would have been allayed at the sight of his bared teeth, the canines longer than any humans should be, their tips sharp as he nibbled on her lip. 

She felt it build, though she did not fully understand what it was until she was screaming his name, her body seizing beneath his. She heard his growl and felt the bite of his teeth, this time over her collarbone as he came. She surrendered to instinct, her own teeth sinking into his shoulder as they trembled together, the fog of lust settling firmly around them. 

“Mine” he lapped at her bite, the wound healing quickly. She did the same to his, the metallic taste of blood no longer revolting but a balm against her tongue. As she watched, his wound healed, but a scar remained. 

She suspected it would always remain. 

Roose moved to lay beside her, the pleasure thrumming through him unlike any he’d experienced in life or death. His little mate mewled and snuggled into his side, her face buried in the curve of his neck as her hair spilled around them. 

Though she may not have understood everything that had happened to her in the last twelve hours, she had adapted quite well. She was strong beneath that courteous facade, a woman of intelligence and fortitude. Not to mention supreme beauty. 

He looked over at her porcelain skin and fiery hair, her nudity gleaming in the candlelight. Her immortal transformation saw to any flaws or scars on her person, but he was grateful to see that the freckles across her cheeks and body remained. 

“Roose” she whispered, her leg coming over his. 

“Yes, my dear?”

“Have you had a wife before?”

“No” he smoothed a hand over her bare shoulder. “I have lived alone for a very long time.”

“And when you were human?” 

“I was the Red King” he admitted, feeling her lift her head to look down at him. 

“_The_ Red King?” she asked, eyes wide. 

“Yes” he cupped her jaw, admiring her swollen lips and the beard rash at the corner of her mouth. His little bride was a woman thoroughly loved, that much was evident on her mouth, let alone by the mating mark on her shoulder. 

“I have read about you” she said softly as his hand trailed down her neck to her own mating mark, the imprint of his teeth there for anyone to see. Not that they would, this would be covered by her gowns at all times. “They say that you killed the Night’s King.”

“I did, though I did not go unpunished for offending the Old Gods” he replied. 

“They did this to you” she deduced. 

“They did” he nodded. “Made me a creature to offend the very Seven themselves.”

“Are there others?”

“A few” he nodded. “We have all offended the Old Gods in someway, living our eternal punishments. We are solitary creatures and rarely cross paths. There is a mated pair in the South, speaking with them is how I knew the moment I smelled you that you were meant for me.” 

“Would you have taken me? If the village had not brought me?” she asked, her leg smoothing over his.

“I would have courted you” his hand went to her leg, kneading her thigh. “I would have pretended to be human, to court you.”

“You could still court me” she smirked, her full lips distracting him from his thoughts. 

“Or” he guided her over his lap. “We could fuck like rabid wolves” he grabbed her hips to grind her against his hardening cock. Her bright blue eyes darkened at his words and he knew he had her. His bride was a lustful minx. 

“But husband” she ran a hand over his chest, her nails raking over his flesh. “Wolves don’t fuck like this.” 

“Later” he promised, lifting her and guiding her onto his cock, her body sheathing his in its warm embrace. “Fuck” he hissed as she sighed, her back arching and her hair tickling his thighs behind her. 

“Help me” she whispered and his hands helped her to find the perfect rhythm and movement, her body riding his with smooth glides. He lay back, marvelling at her ethereal beauty as she moved. She was following her instincts now, taking her pleasure from his body. 

Once she moved with confidence, he moved his hands to her breasts, cupping and teasing the weight, then used one hand to roll her nipples as the other moved to where they were joined. It had been centuries since he had lain with a woman, but the nuances seemed to return this brain with ease. 

“Roose” she whimpered and he felt her begin to tremor around him, her hips faltering but still riding until she broke apart, a hoarse cry leaving her lips as she came. 

He watched her, each pant and tremor bringing him closer to his own release. When she slowed, languid above him, he growled in frustration and rolled her, pinning her on her stomach on the feather mattress. Raising her hips he slid back into her soaked sheath, her whimper driving him wild.

“Is this how wolves fuck, little bride?” he lapped at her shoulder as he fucked her in earnest. 

“Yes” she fisted her hands in the mattress, a whimpering mess as her still-shuttering body did its best to clamp around his. “Yes!” 

It didn’t take long for her screams to build once more, her body shaking beneath his as he drove them both over the edge and into ecstasy. 

“Fuck” he exhaled, collapsing beside her. Sansa only whimpered in response, her back spooning to his chest. She knew that she was not tired, but replete and satisfied, melding to his frame. He nuzzled into her neck, gently kissing the mating mark on her shoulder. 

“Roose” she sighed. 

“Hmm?” he did not pause his kisses.

“I’m hungry” she whispered. 

“Then, my darling little bride, it is time to hunt” he ran his hands over her bare flesh. 

“We’ll start with Blount.” 

“As you wish, little bride.” 

Sansa kicked open the door with ease, giggling at the way the wood bounced off the wall behind it and dust filled the air. 

Her first stop had been to her family home, grabbing any clothing that she could that would fit. She found herself in one of her mother’s old black gowns, this would do until she could see to a new wardrobe that would fit her. Roose assured her that money was not a problem and he would see her in the finest gowns that the world had to offer. 

“What the fuck” Boros leapt from his bed and stared at her with wide eyes. 

“Blount” she entered his small house, glancing around the shitty interior. “Miss me?”

“How the fuck are you here” he watched her enter and then his eyes went to Roose and the wolves at her back. 

Now that she understood them, the wolves were no longer terrifying, they brought comfort and a sense of home. There were six of them, a number that did not escape her mind. She had lost her 6 family members, direwolves by sigil and she had been enfolded into another family, this with 6 sinister wolves of its own. Fate, indeed.

She ran a fingertip over the dusty hearth, listening to the fat man’s heart race. Oh, it was a sweet, sweet melody. Last night she had been weak, at his mercy as he dragged her to the altar of sacrifice, and yet here she was, stronger than ever. 

“You bit--”

Before he could finish the word, she was in front of him, holding him off the ground by his throat, “Tisk-tisk, such terrible language” she chided. 

“Didn’t anyone teach you that it is impolite to toy with your food?” Roose’s cool but amused voice sounded behind her. 

“Of course, darling” she clamped her hand around Blount’s neck and brought him close, sinking her teeth into his neck and drinking from him. He tasted of ash and wine, not a favorable combination but the revenge she had in taking his life made it worth it. This man had thrown her to the wolves, but now his life was hers, his blood hers. 

Passing the fat man’s limp body to her husband, Roose finished the man before dragging him outside and handing him to the wolves. 

When Roose returned, she pulled him into her arms, kissing him deeply. She could taste the iron, ash and wine of Blount on their tongues, but she could also taste her husbands unique, lemon taste. 

“You’re perfection” Roose praised, kissing her neck softly. 

“I’m not done yet,” she assured him, grabbing her sister’s dagger from Blount’s table. 

“Oh?” he smirked. 

“This is Arya’s” she held up the knife. “Or, it was, rather. I won’t stop until every piece of my family legacy is returned from those looting, thieving bastards” she said and Roose nodded slowly. 

“Understandable” he agreed.

“Why did the sickness not take me?” she asked after a long pause. 

“Because you did not belong to the sickness” he told her, though the words did not make sense to her ears. “You belong to me, Sansa, from the moment of your birth, our paths have been racing toward each other. We are inevitable. In the time when my heart beat, you would have been Queen Sansa Bolton. My people would have worshipped you.” 

“And now?” she ran a hand over his beard. 

“Now, I will worship you” he promised, kissing her softly. 

“Good” she teased, licking along his lower lip. “Now, let’s get started.”

“As you wish, my Queen” he smirked. 

Sansa was walking down the street when the cell phone in her purse rang, with a smirk she pulled it free, “Hello?”

“You’re stunning” his deep, rich voice sounded from the other end. 

“Am I now?” she glanced around the busy sidewalk. She did not see him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. He was several hundred years older than her, his skills much more advanced, he could be anywhere. 

“Absolute perfection” he purred. 

“And to think” she gave a dramatic sigh. “I am just a poor, young woman walking home from work” she pouted, knowing that he would see it, wherever he was.

“Minx” he growled, ending the call. 

Sansa laughed, tucking her phone back into her bag and continuing her walk along the busy streets, admiring the glowing lights of the city as she walked. 

Were she still human, she would be almost 190 years old, a woman married some 170 plus years. However, she was still frozen in the body of an 18 year old Lady Sansa Stark, her ethereal beauty a beacon for those around her. She was a predator, at her very core, a creature of darkness, but those watching her had no idea. 

To her she looked weak, young and foolish. Oh, what a mistake that was. 

“Hey, beautiful” a man fell into step beside her and she did her best to hide her smirk. Roose would certainly enjoy this. The man was middle-aged, with sandy brown hair and a crooked smile. Young, perhaps by humans standards, but older than her flesh body. 

“No” she said simply, never pausing her walk down the street. Her fingers wandered to the locket at her throat, touching the gold that still held the only pieces of her parents that she had left.

“No? Now, come on” he tucked his hands in his pockets. “I am sure you mean ‘yes’, I’d like to take you for dinner.”

“No” she repeated, crossing by an alley where she saw a flash of darkness. Here it comes…

“You’re beautiful, I’m damned good looking, and I ---” his words cut off abruptly but she didn’t pause, not until the next block when she stopped to look into a shop window at the Christmas display. 

She was watching the tiny model trains when she felt the warmth of lips at her shoulder. 

“Wife” he growled, pulling her scarf aside to kiss her neck. While she didn’t need protection from the snow, it helped her to blend in with the humans.

“Mmhmm?” she answered, never looking away from the trains. His arms banded around her, holding her tightly. 

“Gods you’re beautiful” he whispered. 

“You might have told me as such” she smirked. “A time or two.” 

“Or two” he repeated, nuzzling her fiery hair than hung over her shoulder in a thick braid. Cars and buses sped by, but neither of them cared or noticed. “Some days, I still cannot believe that you are mine.” 

“Ridiculous” she laughed. “We’ve been married nearly two hundred years, you’d think you would be sick of me by now.” 

“Absolutely not” he promised. “With you I have survived 3 wars, countless rebellions and any number of social revolutions.” 

“Indeed” she agreed, turning in his embrace to face him.

“You always have been perfection” he kissed her softly. 

“You have always been biased” she kissed him back

“You cannot fault me for such.”

“No, I cannot” she lowered her hand to his. “Come, let’s go home.” 

“Temptress” he clasped her hand, both of them turning to walk down the busy street. Though the mortals did not realize it, they parted to allow them passage, their natural instincts forcing them to let predators pass unerred. 

They walked along the street until they reached the building where their penthouse awaited and they ducked inside and to the elevator, trading kisses as they slid into the car. 

“My beautiful bride” he grabbed her ass possessively. 

“Husband” she sighed. “Oh, how I love you.” 

“And I you, my beautiful temptress” he kissed her deeply, the car carrying them to the too-modern, too-loud dwelling they shared when they decided to go to town. 

On the edge of the city, the wolves waited, ready to return home when their masters should go. Those wolves were her babies, the precious children her body could never bear. Still, she cared for them all the same.

Sansa laughed as Roose lifted her, carrying her into their penthouse and up the stairs, the promise of a very long night making her grateful that she no longer required sleep. 

He carried her passed the relics of her family. Arya’s knife, her brother’s carved wooden raven and his own flaying knives, all displayed in the bookcases. They had never forgotten who they were or where they came from, no matter how much time had passed. 

“Beautiful” Roose praised as he lay her onto the blood red counterpane. He hit the button that closed the blinds, ensuring they would be safe come daylight. 

“Come here” she pulled him back to her, both of them lost to the passion that always simmered between them. 

This, she sighed, was worth every ounce of fear. This was her destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for pic sets and more shenanigans!  
@the-red-wulf or https://the-red-wulf.tumblr.com/


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